by Sandra Brown
"Meaning that Basile could probably be a persuasive guy if he set his
mind to it. Especially with a woman."
Unwittingly, Wayne Bardo had tapped into the mother lode of Pinkie's
concern. He had never discussed the details of his various sidelines
with Remy, but she could have picked up threads of information, which,
woven together, could form the rope that would hang him. She probably
knew even more than she realized. Even an offhanded comment could prove
useful to someone like Basile, whose police training had honed his
innate deductive skills. If he threatened Remy's life, God knows how
much she would suddenly remember about her husband's enterprises and
compromising connections. All the more reason why she needed to be found
and silenced.
"If Basile sweet-talked her, blew in her ear some, she might spill her
guts," Bardo surmised."What do you think?"
"What I think," Duvall said evenly, "is that if you talk like that about
my wife again, I'm going to tear out your tongue." It was all right for
him to speculate on Remy's allegiance, it wasn't all right for someone
else to.
"Jeer, Pinkie, don't get sore. All I meant was "
"I need to get out of this room," he said abruptly.
"Where're you going?"
"Out."
"I'll come, too."
"You'll stay here. You have work to do. Remember?"
Pinkie angrily yanked open the door, then strode through the lobby of
his law office. Errol, who'd been sleeping in a chair, groggily raised
his head, then jerked to attention."Where to, Mr. Duvall?"
"I'm going for a walk. Alone."
He took the elevator to the first floor of the building, passed the
security guard without a glance, and pushed through the glass doors,
which the guard unlocked electronically from the reception desk.
Pinkie walked two blocks before he hailed one of New Orleans's
notoriously expensive taxis. When he gave the female driver the address,
she shot him a droll look in the rearview mirror.
Mardi Gras celebrants were keeping the girls at Ruby Bouchereaux's place
busy. From now until midnight on Fat Tuesday when Lent began, the
gentlemen were limited to one hour, unless they were willing to pay
exorbitantly. Ruby had reminded her girls that the more frequent the
turnover, the more profit for everybody.
The week of Mardi Gras was always an enormous moneymaker. Nightly, the
house was packed with regular clients seeking additional fun without
their wives after the grand balls and parties, and out-oftowners who
flocked to the city for the celebration. Men ranging from eighteen to
eighty sought fun and frolic in the best whorehouse in the best party
town in the country.
Most evenings Ruby could be found on the gallery above the main salon.
From this excellent vantage point, she could observe the activity going
on below, while letting her excellent personnel handle the general
operation. Puffing a cigar and sipping brandy, she mentally tabulated
what this night's profits would be, and smiled complacently at the
estimate.
Her smile deflated when she saw Pinkie Duvall.
Speaking to no one, he made his way to the bar and ordered a drink,
which he drank quickly and ordered another. To Ruby, the most amusing of
his pretensions was that of being a wine connoisseur.
Belying that image, he was tossing back shots of hard liquor as rapidly
as a sailor on shore leave after six months at sea.
Catching the eye of one of her hostesses, she signaled her toward
Pinkie. The svelte blonde was one of Ruby's classiest girls. A United
States diplomat's daughter, she had traveled extensively with her
parents and attended the most prestigious schools in the world. She
spoke several languages fluently and was conversant on a wide variety of
topics. She could hold her own with a stuffy intellectual, or be quite
the coquette. No fantasy was too bizarre if it meant pleasing a client,
although she drew the line at abuse and pain. Having absolutely no shame
or inhibitions, she approached sex as an art form, practicing the exotic
methods she had learned abroad while executing her own idea of foreign
relations.
A nasty incident in Burma when it was still Burma involving her and a
high government official had resulted in her father's dismissal from
foreign service. He, in turn, had renounced her. Penniless and
scandalized, she had made a natural career choice and had never
regretted it. Clients paid dearly for her. Even after Ruby's percentage,
she was getting rich, and because she looked younger than her years, she
could probably work well into her thirties. She went by the name of
Isobel.
Pinkie was an easy sell tonight. The transaction at the bar took less
than a minute. He followed the beauty up the wide staircase. Ruby left
her cigar smoldering in a crystal ashtray and intercepted them on the
landing.
"Good evening, Pinkie." Although she'd rather have spit on him, she gave
him her most disarming smile.
He was no happier to see her than she was to see him, and was probably
annoyed that she had forced him to speak to her."Ruby."
"I haven't seen you since Bardo carved up my girl. How good of you to
grace us with your presence."
He ignored the barb."Your business is thriving. But then whoring has
always been profitable."
Ruby's smile turned brittle at the corners, and her eyes glinted with
malice."Because there've always been men who can't get it without paying
for it. Which brings me to wonder why you're here tonight.
Wasn't your wife in the mood? Remy, isn't it? Did Remy refuse your
attentions tonight?"
She was rewarded by seeing the blood vessels in his temples expand.
With a brusque gesture, he motioned Isobel up the stairs.
Ruby thoughtfully watched them go.
During his bachelor days, Pinkie had come around several times a week.
Since his marriage, his patronage had slacked off considerably, although
he wasn't entirely a stranger to the bedrooms upstairs.
Sometimes he came for recreation, other times to work off steam, but
Ruby had never seen him as agitated as he was tonight. Interesting.
"Miss Ruby?"
She turned. One of the maids, who'd worked in the house even while Ruby
was growing up in it, spoke to her softly in her melodious West Indies
accent."You said for me to come get you when that poor little lamb woke
up."
They moved along the gallery, then made a right turn down a hallway that
led to the rear of the house and a room that was tucked under the
eaves."How is she?" Ruby asked as they approached the closed door.
"Mostly, she's scared."
The chamber was comfortably furnished, although it was too small to use
for business. Usually it was given over to a girl who was sick and
needed to be kept quarantined from the others while she was contagious,
or to a new girl who needed a place to sleep while she was being trained
and taught the policies of the house.
Ruby approached the bed and leaned over the girl with the
attention of a
loving mother."How are you feeling?"
Dixie experimentally touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of her
mouth, where blood had coagulated over a nasty abrasion."That bastard
busted me up good, didn't he?"
"The doctor said none of the bones in your face were broken."
"The way he was hitting me, I don't know why not." Tears filled her
eyes."Do I look like something a goat puked up?"
"You've looked better," Ruby said, laying a gentle hand on her arm.
"And you will again. Don't fret. The doctor left some pain medication.
You can rest here for as long as it takes to heal. I'd guess two weeks,
maybe three."
"Two or three weeks?" Dixie tried to laugh, but the effort made her
wince with pain. Moving only her eyes, she took in the room, Ruby, and
the hovering maid."If I don't work, I don't eat. How am I supposed to
pay you?"
"When you arrived, you said Burke Basile had sent you. Is he a client of
yours?"
"You mean a john? Don't I wish," Dixie mumbled."He's paid me, but for
information only. Nothing else. Last time I saw him, he told me that if
I got into trouble, I should come here. You a friend of his?"
"Let's just say that he and I share a mutual respect and a common goal."
"Hmm. Well, if he has to pay for this, it'll serve him right. It's on
account of him that Bardo "
"Wayne Bardo?" Ruby's soft expression hardened."He did this to you?"
Dixie nodded."Made me suck him off. Then, when I wouldn't tell him
anything about Basile, he started beating the crap out of my face."
Ruby sat down on the edge of the bed and studied the girl with an
experienced eye. Her face was a mess, but she had excellent bone
structure, and, when they'd undressed her, Ruby had taken note of her
alluring figure. Ruby usually disparaged girls who worked the streets,
but obviously Basile considered this one a notch above the rest, or he
wouldn't have recommended she come here.
She needed refining. Her name would be changed to something more unusual
and intriguing. Her days of bathing in cheap gardenia scent were over.
The silver nail polish and red vinyl skirt would have to go.
She needed a complete make over, but the girl definitely had potential.
Ruby smoothed the hair off her forehead where Bardo's fists had left
bruises."Why was Bardo inquiring about Mr. Basile?"
"He was looking for him."
"Did he say why?"
"No. Only I think it has something to do with Wait, maybe I'm not
supposed to tell. Basile paid me to keep my mouth shut."
"But he wouldn't mind your telling me. He sent you here, remember."
"Yeah, I guess. Okay. I think it has something to do with Pinkie
Duvall's wife."
"Really?" With affected indifference, Ruby listened to Dixie's very
interesting story."A priest?"
Dixie snorted."Can you imagine that? If Basile was a priest, every woman
in the church would be getting off during Mass. Say, listen, if this
isn't going to cost me, could I maybe have a drink?"
"Certainly." Ruby turned to the maid and asked her to fetch a cup of
tea.
"It wasn't exactly tea I had in mind," Dixie remarked as the maid
withdrew.
Ruby smiled indulgently."You'll drink your tea, take your medicine, and
rest. If you do everything I tell you, this beating could be the best
thing that's ever happened to you. But we'll talk about all that later
when you're feeling better."
Ruby left Dixie under the maid's care and resumed her place on the
gallery to ruminate on what the girl had told her. Could it be that
Burke Basile was responsible for Pinkie's foul mood? Did his vendetta
against Duvall involve his young and beautiful wife? Was that why he'd
been so interested to hear everything Ruby knew about her?
"How very clever of you, Mr. Basile." Ruby chuckled deep in her throat
and raised her snifter of brandy in a silent toast to the former
narcotics officer.
How unfortunate, though, that he wouldn't live very long.
Not if he'd laid a finger on Pinkie Duvall's wife.
Mac left for work earlier than usual, telling Toni that he had paperwork
to catch up on. He thought he was leaving well before rush hour, but
traffic on I-10 was already sluggish because of the weather.
A low-pressure system from the Gulf had moved into the area overnight,
bringing with it heavy rains.
When he reached headquarters, he parked but didn't enter the building.
Instead, he wrestled with an umbrella and walked several blocks to a
cafe, where he ordered only a cup of coffee. He burned his tongue by
drinking it before it had time to cool. Then he got change from the
cashier, went to the pay phone, and placed a call to the number he'd
taken from Burke Basile's retired files the evening before.
"Hello?"
"Joe Basile?"
"Yes."
Mac silently mouthed a thank-you to the god of lucky breaks. It had been
years since Burke had designated his brother in Shreveport the person to
call, other than his spouse, in case of an emergency.
Since then, brother Joe could have moved or changed his number. Mac felt
damn lucky to have hit on the first strike.
"My name is Mac Mccuen." He kept his voice friendly, upbeat, and
conversational."I work with your brother. Or did. Until he recently
resigned."
"In the Narcotics Division?"
"That's right. Has Burke mentioned me to you?"
"You headed one of the squads after Kev Stuart got killed."
"Right again." He wondered in what context Basile had mentioned him.
In complaint? In praise of? He didn't have the guts to ask."I learned a
lot by working with your brother and hated like hell that he quit so
suddenly."
"He was bummed out. At least that's the excuse he gave me. He swore off
police work forever, but it wouldn't surprise me if he went back to it.
Maybe not in New Orleans, but somewhere."
"The world would sure be better off if he did." Then, not wanting to lay
it on too thick and arouse suspicion, Mac said, "Burke was over at the
house the other night and mentioned that he was going away for a while.
My wife's old lady is coming to visit," he adlibbed."So I thought to
myself, why not take a few days off and leave the house to them? Why not
join Burke? Hang out, drink beer, talk over old times.
You know."
"Hmm," brother Joe said, very noncommittally.
Only I don't know how to contact him."
"What makes you think he wants to be contacted?"
Shrewdness was a Basile family trait. Brother Joe wasn't a cop, but he
was no mental midget either."Before he left, he said it was too bad I
couldn't go with him, something to that effect. Now that I can, I figure
he'd welcome the company."
During the long silence that ensued, Mac gnawed on his lower lip.
His eyes darted about the cafe, trying to detect any early morning diner
who might be spying on behalf of Pinkie Duvall or Del Ray Jones.
None seemed the least bit interested in the nervous man hunched over the
public telephone.
Finally Joe Basile said, "I'm afraid I can't help you, Mr. Mccuen.
When I last spoke to Burke, he sounded pretty down in the dumps. He
mentioned getting away to me, too, and, frankly, I got the impression
that he wanted to be left alone."
Forgetting his recent prayers, Mac mouthed a few obscenities."I see."
"Tell you what, though. If Burke calls me, I'll pass along your message.
Then if he wants to invite you to join him, he can. Okay?
That's the best I can do."
Mac considered telling Joe that his older brother had committed a
federal crime. That might make him more cooperative. But he rejected the
idea almost as soon as it occurred to him. Duvall didn't want it
broadcast that his wife had been abducted. If the news got out and the
leak was traced back to Mac Mccuen, he'd be dead sooner than later.
"Look, Mr. Mccuen, I've got to go," Joe Basile said."It was nice talking
to you. If I hear from Burke, I'll tell him you're available to join
him. Have a nice day."
He hung up, leaving Mac holding a dead phone. He replaced the receiver